


While You were Sleeping

by okbutjusthisonce



Series: RFU [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Omega, But you know this is a happy world right?, John Watson is Crazy Knocked Up, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Omega John, Omega John Watson, Omega Verse, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant John, Sexual Frustration, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okbutjusthisonce/pseuds/okbutjusthisonce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mine..." He stops. He was doing it again, wasn't he, wasn't he. Growling and declaring the obvious. But for whom?</p><p>(Sherlock gets a bit "worse".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	While You were Sleeping

"Mine."

The word slips through his lips without his permission, nearly tangible, as surreal and palpable as though a butterfly has crawled from his mouth. It flutters away in scandalous victory.

 _Idiot._ He tells himself as he hovers over John's sleeping form,

_Who else's could he possibly be? How many times must it be declared? How many times must you reassert yourself like a dumb, dull, beast?_

"Mmmmmmmmm..."  His head twists slowly to the side, his eyes clenched shut as he wrestles with it. Turning the word into a hum is the closest he can come to controlling himself, is a tiny, lonely piece of power in his possession. Certainly there is no power of physical restraint left in him.

 _Not a bit,_ he thinks as he compulsively noses the underside of John's jaw and inhales deeply. The result is a painful, low moan.

_Not a bit, except..._

He knows where it comes from, this anguished sound he makes. It's irreversibly tied to the very spot he now snuffles and licks, tasting, drinking in pheromones.

_Greedy thing._

He wants to bite so badly. His cock is leaking all over the bloody place, he gets more agitated just thinking about it; the tortured engorged flesh between his legs, the demand that aches and roots deep inside his body, runs all the way from his pelvis up his spine, makes his very teeth hurt, demands he fuck and claim -

_No!_

He won't bite, he simply won't. He curbs himself like a bad dog, finds that his teeth are ever so slightly pressed into John's neck. John sighs contentedly, before letting out a soft snore.

The challenge of self-control brings Sherlock back to himself for a moment. He sits up, blinking.

He'd come in to tell John the results. How off the charts his readings are. How the experiment shows his body is now producing not just in quantity but quality; the concentrated levels of hormones that are in his bloodstream and streaming out his cock are worthy of a pharmaceutical product. Prescription only. When he comes inside John, John's immediate euphoria is now backed by data, by science.

But John was asleep. He's napping. Naked in their bed. Growing, growing. Unbelievably swollen with child. A real litter this time, it's the reason he's so big, nearly too big to move; he's stuffed full of babies; his babies, he put them there, fucked them into John, his John, full of his come, full of his seed, big with his offspring his-

"Mine..." He stops. He was doing it again, wasn't he, wasn't he. Growling and declaring the obvious. But for whom?

_Territorial, insecure. Unnecessary. Pull it together. Thirteen already, and five new ones he's yours and only yours..._

But his id is having none of it now. He inhales a world of crazy-making-John-scent again, and with trembling hands begins to rub his cock over his monstrously pregnant mate.

 _Don't, you'll wake him, let him sleep-!_ The thought is cruelly shut down before it's barely finished forming. His voice rumbles like a coming storm.

"Mine...

Mine...

Mine!

Mine! Mine! Mine!" John is his and he will do with him as he wishes! He will touch John whenever he wants, fuck John whenever he wants, impregnate him whenever he wants, as much as he wants. He wants, how he wants.

_MineMineMine!_

He ruts against John's swollen belly until he shudders and climaxes. He does it twice more, grunting in self-satisfaction, breath hot and ragged.

He rubs his fluids into John's flesh, uniting their scents, marking, claiming, doing what he can to scratch the itch he never really allows himself to touch. John stays deep in slumber through it all. It somehow feels like the proof of devotion.

He'll keep John like this. Fill him again. He'll make John have a bigger litter right away as soon as these are born. And then another after that. He is sure it's the right thing to do. He can barely remember what else there is, really.

His fingers slide between John's legs, the opening there is slick and soft: a welcoming response to his alpha call. His bollocks are already beginning to fill again, to ache again, but he is calmer now. John mumbles and moves in his sleep; he is dreaming.

He spoons himself against John, pressing into the gravid body he loves from behind. He closes his eyes, nuzzles into John's shoulder and neck again. This time with intention, this time inhaling his own scent mixed with John's, this time surrendering himself to the thought, this time it brings an odd feeling of near-contentment.

_Mine._

 

**Author's Note:**

> God knows what else Sherlock gets up to while John is asleep...


End file.
